


Sandstorm

by Perelka_L



Series: Incomplete/Unfulfilled [1]
Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Actually both are ancient deities, Alternate Universe - Mythology, Cecil is Inhuman, Gen, I'm Bad At Titles, Kevin is Inhuman, Mythology - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-16
Updated: 2013-09-16
Packaged: 2017-12-26 18:59:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/969161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Perelka_L/pseuds/Perelka_L
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>kink meme fill:<br/>"Kevin and Cecil are twins, old desert gods in fact. Kevin watched over the desert in the day and Cecil took over protecting it at night. Like most twin gods they were both the same and opposite.<br/>Many years ago the government managed to capture them. Years after that, Strex (or what would become Strex) bought/stole Kevin.<br/>Both Cecil and Kevin are being controlled by the government/Strex brainwashing them (drugs? spells? being bound by ancient blood rituals?)."</p><p>Years ago nothing mattered because nothing could ever matter when you are surrounded by sand and sky.<br/>Now nothing matters because you are drunk on blood and unable to focus on anything beside smile on your face.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sandstorm

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'ed by brilliant tyrianlugia@tumblr

**1.**  
Annual sacrifice in the undergrounds of StrexCorp’s HQ was supposed to go smoothly and without problems, as it had every year. And it did. In the middle of the night and when the day was shortest, when the God of Day was weakest, an innocent boy or girl was sacrificed, their blood sweetest and able to intoxicate the God of Day, making him bend to the will of Strex.  
Marie was taken away from her parents in the middle of the night. She was always the quiet one, a little girl with pigtails who never spoke with other students, never raised her hand during the lessons, and her parents had three other children anyway. She won’t be missed.  
She wasn’t even scared when she was led to the dark room, lighted up by a single candle. Even in this dim light she could see blood on the old, old walls – and she wasn’t scared.  
In her last moments, before the silver blade fell on her neck, she briefly thought that it was a bit sad that she will die without ever having seen a sandstorm in her life. Just this. Nothing else. She didn’t regret not being able to say goodbye to her parents – who never cared about her anyway; Marie was just a way to keep productivity in check – and she didn’t even regret seeing the world outside Desert Bluffs. This little dream she shared during one of her lessons and was then laughed off by her classmates.  
She wanted to see a sandstorm. “The power of the desert,” as teachers told her in schools, was shown on big screens. Sand getting everywhere, miniature blades cutting, choking. Unstoppable power, waiting to be released with a single blow of cold breeze.  
That thought was cut short when her throat burst open with blood and chants began. Spare us, Day God, hide your light for we are not worthy to see it, we are not worthy of taking warmth from you. We are not worthy of hearing your voice – share it with us. We order you to share it with us. Be our voice, and we will control your tongue and teeth and every word you will spill will be our word.

On the other side of the town, Kevin R. Free woke up from the dream about a sandstorm. He woke up again from the dream that he was Kevin R. Free, a dream that was dreamt for too long, a dreadful nightmare.  
He was supposed to be drunk with blood, his memories hazy, mind sure of the lies he was fed. But the blood that was given to him had a dream of sand in it, a dream he shared, a dream that was him.  
This single thought was enough to break down all the walls cast around Kevin by complicated rituals, chants, blood sacrifices, and powers of magic surrounding him in a tight cocoon. He was reminded that it wasn’t Desert Bluffs that was his home, that his body wasn’t made of flesh and bones, that his eyes turned black for a reason.  
He was reminded that he could still be angry, and it was the middle of the night; so he didn’t even open his eyes when he woke up, just turned around a bit in his bed to hide his clenched fingers somewhere where StrexCorp cameras won’t see them, eyes hidden under eyelids black, vigilant.  
His mind pushed - day short, the middle fo the night, it didn't matter - layer after layer of bindings fell. His insides trembled, tongue ignoring the taste of innocent blood, such delicious blood, pushed away the feeling of dissipating warmth in the undergrounds, life forcibly given away for him.  
The God of Day pushed.

Thousands of miles away from Desert Bluffs, a single gust of cold wind touched a hot surface of sand.

 **2.**  
Sandstorm, the rage of the desert Gods. There were times when Kevin could create powerful sandstorms on a whim, sandstorms that would undoubtedly leave this damned city destroyed; people dead and covered in blood, lungs full of dust; possessions taken away by sand, value ignored. No one would ever rebuild this city. People would run away, productivity and money ignored in throes of sheer panic, fear.  
Kevin shuddered on his way to StrexCorp Records when he thought what he could do if his brother helped him.  
Now Kevin was weak, even weaker when he entered the studio, covered in blood and guts. The smell rushed into his nose but his mind was too concentrated on other things to be weakened by animal sacrifice.  
For instance, how to keep up the façade of Kevin, how to not change. How to pretend he still was a cheerful, hopeful guy who, day by day, pushed people into belief of a better tomorrow. A guy who announced plans of corporations, news, thousands of useless things that Kevin would never stand a few hundred years ago, things he would burn with his sun, bury under the sand, let them be eaten by creatures hiding from his wrath.  
He also wondered about his brother, and what would be left of the city if he could be found and if he joined Kevin in the destruction of everything that bound them to every creature who could generate a thought and be able to speak.  
The “On Air” sign blinked to life, orange light filling the closed room. There were no windows here, of course. Kevin concentrated on it. Not on blood, not on the smell. Not on thoughts of judgment he would one day bring to this damn town. Light was everything that mattered, so he brought that light into his thoughts and Voice.  
“…Welcome to Desert Bluffs.” Kevin said through a grin, teeth sharp and eyes as dark as a shadow on the desert in the middle of the day.  
This day was one of the hottest days Desert Bluffs had ever seen, almost as hot as the day the town was founded.

 **3.**  
At first there was Night and Day and nobody else. They never had other names, what for anyway? Rarely anyone entered the desert – and when they did, they prayed and Night and Day listened and helped – for the sooner they passed, the sooner they left and usually never came back.  
Desert, beloved desert was always here. Them and the desert. Never changing. Sometimes growing, expanding, but the desert  
remained the desert.  
There was nothing to do and they were glad things never changed. There was always only the God of Day, with his teeth sharp and eyes filled with death, and the God of Night, his skin cold and eyes full of life.

Then the foreigners came, their skin white as the Night God’s, different from all those who have passed their territories before. They noticed them and - at first - the foreigners were careful, smiling, but there was fear in eyes of them and the people they brought along and forced them to come in order to show to cross-wearing humans the Gods of Desert. Night and Day started to speak to them, learning the language in order to understand, for it wasn’t language they have ever heard in the desert – silent prayers were enough to learn. People told them they weren’t Gods and the twins merely shrugged – did it matter, anyway?  
One day, darker men made sacrifices and the God of Day listened to their prayers; heat was lowered and water could be found – the way it usually was. Animals went out and they were killed, as sacrifices the Gods shared with the hungry people. The foreigners noticed those things, and the next day, they made a much bigger sacrifice - and discovered the Voice the God of Day possessed.  
If the God of Day could cry, he would, but as he was Sun and heat, he couldn’t. His brother cried instead.  
They met another group of foreigners and those others had food and water and weapons. And the Voice of Sun was powered by blood, so much fresh blood. The Day God asked them – ordered them – to make those people die. This is exactly what Day told them to do. They did what they were forced to do. Again blood put Day under control of human will. People stole everything the dead once owned.  
The God of Moon was resistant to blood, as he was blood and life that covered cold desert every night - he wasn’t one to be maimed with sacrifices. Whenever his brother was used, he could only stare, the sun rendering him helpless and weak – and when the moon shone in the sky, the fire was put out and the light weakening him, weakening his limbs and powers. His creatures were scared of warmth.  
The foreigners never liked him as he had more eyes than them. They soon took away the shelter from him, made him stay awake during days and sleep at nights, just for the sake of torture. Whenever the sun was the highest, they made the God of Night walk into the desert - and that was enough to make him delirious, unsure, lost. Heat burned his skin and mind and the God of Day was helpless to do anything, his mind surrounded by red fog of blood and thoughts running wild. His brother’s body was unnaturally hot, his mind blank. Once, when Night asked Day who he was, Day could only choke out a sob.  
One day, the group divided. Some decided that treating the God of Night in this way was cruel; wasn’t it better to sacrifice blood, like people always did in ancient times? Others were saying that if the God of Night was in their control, well, it - they called him “it” - could protect itself better.  
One day after they parted ways, the God of Day found a mirror and he discovered how much he looked like his brother and how much he didn't. He thought he will probably never be able to tell him that, show him – and he surrendered to blood.  
The Moon God also possessed the voice - but he was broken and destroyed, so people decided to reconstruct him and to make he will suit their whims. They gave him a human name and a human role and human memories. Godhood forgotten, he was now a simple man with the ability to hypnotize with his Voice. He slept by nights and worked by days, evenings, when his voice gained power and made listeners believe.  
And he never knew why he missed the never-ending darkness surrounding the cold desert, why he loved every living creature but understood why everything will die. What void really is.  
Night Vale was built on belief in the God of Night, pure belief that his words were true and had he ever remembered what he was…

 **4.**  
The Vulture King knew that Night Vale was what it was because of Cecil. During the night, people dreamt and the God dreamt with them. Night was the moment when human fantasies run wild, released from solid confines of the logical mind and soon everything that was nothing but imagination mixed with chaos of the pure lack of borders was reality and it was accepted. Like in a dream - but the God of Birds knew better.  
What was the Bird God, King of Vultures, doing in the desert?  
He followed because he could do nothing more, and he craved human flesh.  
And he heard from his winged loves that the sandstorm was created in faraway lands. So he started writing two letters…

 **5.**  
Josie and Josephine watched from afar, surrounded by angels and demons, how the sandstorm came closer and closer. Then they sat down and turned their laptops on.

 **6.**  
Kevin couldn’t see with his eyes, but when they turned black he could. He couldn’t see the light of the sun but he could see the way golden sand hit the walls of the Radio Station, how they called to their master to join in the dance, in a perfect act of nature’s fury. They called and called but it was futile. Damn blood.  
Now…he could only wait. Wait for the sandstorm to get more powerful, for magic and sand to mix so he could find his brother. Wait and babble about things humans found important or humans will find important. A shiver of anticipation took over when he played a message from the sponsors, but then it turned into a shiver of fear.  
Will Kevin’s twin know who he was?  
Just in case, Kevin left his photo on the desk. Maybe their places will synchronize, maybe his brother will be here too. “Maybe” was a hope Kevin hated but now he had to repeat this single word, for he knew not what would happen if he lost it, being as helpless as a dying animal surrounded by vultures.

 **7.**  
Cecil stared at the vortex. It was dark, the color of the desert sky by night. It was…entrancing. It was softly whispering to him, its voice unheard but felt. It was urging its God to come and surround himself with the darkness. The God of Night was no more, but Cecil Baldwin felt a rising curiosity.  
It appealed to him with darkness Cecil always craved and never received, always surrounded by lights, be it those on the streets or the sky.  
Cecil slowly rose from his chair, his eyes never leaving the black surface.

 **8.**  
It was a mix of accidental events that instead of a teleportation portal, the vortex appeared. The same letter read aloud. The same video watched and laughed at. The same history told, same but different.  
The vortex was a teleportation portal. Simple.  
But to get from one place to another one through the vortex, one had to get through another dimension, to shorten the way. The dimension was a place unattainable for mortals, who simply passed through, never able to look what was between one place and another.  
To get to this place one had to have more under their skin than a mere normal soul; in other words, be more than human. A God, for example.  
At first both Kevin and Cecil passed through, as mortals. To find out where the vortex led them to.  
Kevin knew what an empty studio meant. It was where his brother could possibly be. But he feigned everything as perfectly as he could, his surprise acted out, voice as cheerful as possible. If Night was not here, it meant that he was now on the other side, in his blood-covered studio. He played the weather – just a different version of the one he chose – and cringed when he felt darkness engulf him, take him.

 **9.**  
Cecil was here. When he saw Kevin, he smiled – the God was in control, not the human body and mind. In a blur of colors he could see his perfect, violet eyes, pale skin, gold hair. It was his brother who stretched his hand to let Kevin grasp it and Kevin – the God of Day – took it.  
They danced in swirling madness, no blood, no whispers in here. Just the two of them. Chaos was blending colors, purple mixed with yellow, creating the picture of desert sunset – or maybe sunrise?  
They spoke, hushed voices, bodies touching. They told each other everything that had happened to them after those last moments they saw each other, delirious, broken. And now they were here, happiness filling them, not letting them go.

They had so little time to share.

 **0.**  
Nothing mattered anymore. Kevin was truly happy.  
He ignored the dead body of the intern on the floor, ignored the blood, ignored everything.  
He grinned, revealing his pointy teeth in all their glory, his eyes black, staring in the direction of StrexCorp HQ. His brother was alive, so he had nothing to fear from anyone.  
“The vortex is gone now, but as I was returning, I passed a man.”  
His grin was even wider.  
“A man who looked just like me.”  
His eyes moved to the camera in the corner.  
“I smiled and said: Hello, friend!”  
Listen to me, for I am warning you.  
“I hugged this man and he hugged me back.”  
He may not remember this, but…  
“We shared a moment in this other world.”  
A second, a thousand years. Time goes differently in other places.  
“I am not sure to where that spiral of space and time took me nor through where I traveled…”  
Look at me, lying. This time I am lying all by myself.  
“…but I am certain that there must be more to us than just us.”  
You have a God in your town.  
“And that there is another place, another time, where things could be different.”  
Could.  
“Better.”  
We would help you if you asked.  
“Worse.”  
We would kill you all if we wanted to.  
“But let’s not think about woulds, coulds and shoulds.”  
Because things will be getting worse and worse for you.  
“I am just happy I am alive.”  
And always will be.  
“I am happy my other is alive.”  
He is, he is, he is, he is.  
“You are alive.”  
Soon you won’t be.  
“We…we are alive.”  
I won’t be dependent on you anymore.  
“Outside, the winds are subsiding.”  
And you will come into this studio and cover my body with the blood of hundreds.  
“Our doubles have left us and the sand has left us.”  
It will always surround you, always.  
“The sun is rising again just as it is setting.”  
None of you ever wondered why it never obeyed your expectations.  
“Our second sunrise collides with sunset.”  
Think about it.  
“Let’s reflect on this.”  
Think.  
And believe in smiling god. For his teeth are sharp and will cut you.

 **-1.**  
When Cecil came back home, he was calm. It was strange, surprising even, considering what he saw on the other side. His shoes were covered in dried blood, as well as his socks. And somehow he wasn’t thinking about this, his body focused on nothing in particular.  
Cecil slowly undressed and entered the bathroom. He filled the bathtub, then looked into the mirror. His reflection had three eyes; it was him, not someone else, not that man, that wicked man who tried to kill him.  
Cecil concentrated on those memories but somehow, somehow, there was nothing but this. He felt safe, loved. He couldn’t force his thoughts on anything beside that. He entered the bathtub and noticed that water in it was completely cold. Strange, he could have sworn that he filled it with steaming hot water, wanting to relax after the sandstorm. His legs, as well as the rest of his body, didn’t shiver when they touched it. The cold water, somehow, was as perfect as it could be.  
Cecil slowly sank in it, his entire body hiding underneath the surface, sweet coldness surrounding him. Unconsciously, he raised his hand and felt for the light switch. The bathroom went completely black (and, unknowingly for Cecil, the entire town lost power at this moment.) and this mixture of darkness and cold made him feel as if he was back from a long, long journey, back home.  
There was a whisper.  
My mouth, your ears. We have each other.  
Goodnight, brother.

**Author's Note:**

> I threw in elements of South American mythology - in it there was belief in two twin brothers, Kuat and Iae. They lived in a world in which all the light was in hands of Vulture King (or God of Birds, depending on the source) - Urubutsin - who didn't want to share it with anyone. Twins set a trap on him, hid in bodies of dead animals and waited for him to appear. When he arrived, they caught Utubutsin and threatened to not release him if he did not share the light. He, not able to get away, gave the light to the twins. Kuat became the Sun and Iae, the Moon.  
> (Versions of myth may very from source to source. Just sayin'.)
> 
> Myth above was my main source of inspiration and is a reason why Vulture King appears - remember that no one likes vultures. 
> 
> Out of duo, it is Cecil who is warped the most - when he came back from the vortex his brainwashed mind warped memories of meeting with Kevin.  
> I tried my best to make Kevin appear i a bit different way than... usual interpretation.. I adore Kevin and I really see him as a positive character, that type that would do absolutely everythig just to see you smile. 
> 
> Thank you for reading.


End file.
